The Riddle of Magic
by DragonFrog
Summary: Esmeralda Longbottom, unwitting relative to Neville Longbottom, is in her first year at Hogwarts. She's already Keeper on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and is said to be smarter than even Hermione Granger was. But why does someone want her dead?
1. Chapter 1: The Quidditch Match

_Hey, everyone. This is my first fan fiction, but don't hesitate to rip it to shreds. Thanks, DF_

**_Chapter One: The Quidditch Match_**

Esmeralda Longbottom sat on one of the locker room benches, lacing up her Quidditch boots. She could hear the crowd roaring outside; it was the first game of the school year. It was her first game in any form, actually. She'd never seen one, and she'd certainly never played in one. She was only a first year, too.

"Nervous?" Matt Gibson asked, sitting down beside her. He was the team's captain and seeker

"No," she said, meaning it. "Should I be?"

"Not with your talent…"

Talent, she thought. They kept saying she had it, and she'd never even sat on a broom up until a few weeks ago. They'd gawked at her when she first kicked off—but she didn't think she'd done anything that impressive. It was almost as if they'd expected her to fall off or some other dreadful thing. People tended to think she'd be horrible at anything.

"Just checking…" She laced up her other boot. "How much longer?"

Matt glanced at his watch. "Any moment now. We're just waiting on Davidson."

Esmeralda hopped to her feet and grabbed her broom. "Well, tell her to hurry up."

"Anxious, then?"

"Fine, yes. I'm _anxious_."

In a few minutes, Pam Davidson came rushing over. "Gibson!" she said, pointing a finger in his face. "You're killing me. I've trained for five years as right chaser! I've led Ravenclaw to the Championship—"

"Which we lost," Matt pointed out.

"That we lost, but I still got us there, and now you're making me a left?" She shoved one of the game charts in his face.

Matt stared at it for a while. "Girl, you read it upside down. You're still our right chaser."

Blushing, Pam yanked the chart back and flipped it over. With a frown, she muttered, "So I did…"

Matt threw a smug grin at Esmeralda before waving the rest of the team in. "All right. It's the first game of the year—Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor."

"Go Gryffindor!" Beater Ted Jenkins exclaimed.

"We're Ravenclaw, Ted," the other beater pointed out. Esmeralda couldn't remember his name. He was too quiet, normally.

"I knew that…" Ted said with a grin. "But Gryffindor's not that bad…" For some peculiar reason, he caught Esmeralda's eye right then but abruptly looked away, as if he'd remembered something.

"Yes, Gryffindor's not that bad…" Matt said, "But today we crush them. Ravenclaw is getting that Championship this year! Play hard, play fast—and look good in the process… Davidson, you're killing us. Your ponytail is off centered." Everyone broke into an appreciative laughter. Pam glared at him but fixed her black hair nonetheless.

Ezzy kicked off the ground and felt the familiar tingling in her fingers. She soared over to the goal hoops and hovered there, watching the game with a quick eye. The Ravenclaw chasers were superb, as far as she could tell, but the Gryffindor chasers were brilliant—and headed her way.

She felt as tiny as she was, then, with the three, huge fourth-year boys zooming in towards her. It didn't frighten her, however. She liked being small, but they apparently thought, judging by their grins, that her size was to their advantage. Keepers were typically strong and large, not tiny. She was fast, though. She was very, very fast.

One chucked the ball at the hoop and she caught it without so much a thought. She tossed it to Pam as she whipped around the posts, and returned to hovering attentively in front of the middle hoop.

The cycle repeated itself, but from comparing everyone else's expression to her own state of mind, she felt miserable. After all, wasn't she supposed to be enjoying herself? All she was doing was catching a red ball. It wasn't difficult, and certainly wasn't exciting.

Esmeralda flicked a speck of lint of her robe before kicking the ball back to one of the Ravenclaw chasers. She dodged a budget—or at least that's what she thought the bloody little things were called—with a soft side sweep and stifled a yawn as Ted rushed past her. Professor Binns' lectures were more engaging than this. Why had she agreed to play in the first place?

It was her last thought before something struck her in the back. The sheer force was enough to topple her off her broom, her body now burning as if on fire. Her scream caught in her throat as magic stole away her breath and before she hit the ground, she had passed out cold from the pain.


	2. Chapter 2: Stranger than Granger

Chapter Two: Stranger than Granger

Esmeralda woke to the sound of a soft breathing in her ear. She sat up straight, mildly shocked at the pain that was searing her spine, and turned to look at whatever had interrupted her rest. It was a house-elf. A very, very ugly house-elf at that, Esmeralda thought. She had seen several since coming to Hogwarts, but not one like this

"Miss Longbottom, Miss!" The house-elf breathed, its voice unusually high-pitched. It wore a hideous shirt in shades of puke green and had a knitted hat the color of spoiled milk.

"_Who_ are you?" Ezzy asked, barely able to form the words.

"Miss Longbottom! Miss Longbottom! I'm Tipsy! Mr. Topsy Tipsy the Hogwarts House-Elf! I bring you a message from Lord Dobby sir!"

"Lord Dobby? I've read that somewhere…" Ezzy muttered to no one in particular.

"Why of course you have, Miss Longbottom, Miss! Lord Dobby leads SPEW, Miss Longbottom. SPEW is famous now, Miss!"

"All right, what's the message—how do _you_ know my name?"

Tipsy's eyes opened wider than Esmeralda would have thought possible. "Bad Tipsy, bad, bad Tipsy!" He muttered, shaking a finger in his own face. "I cannot say exactly how, Miss Longbottom! But the Liberation Fronts have their eye on you, Miss Longbottom, Miss! That's how they know your name!"

"Will you please stop saying, "Miss Longbottom" every sentence." Ezzy turned slightly, ignoring the pain, and observed her surroundings. She was in the hospital wing, by the looks of it. She glanced out the window: the moon was already full. She'd been lying there for almost a week.

"Of course, Miss!"

Ezzy examined her arms. What had happened to her? Her arms were covered with scars and bruises. She'd gotten this from just a tumble off a broom? Wasn't magic supposed to be able to cure such injuries? Her mind worked it over, and she glanced about the room again.

"Tipsy…" she said cautiously. "Why aren't I at Hogwarts?"

"Whatever would make you think that, Miss?"

Ezzy let her eyes bore into his. "This is the Hogwarts hospital ward, but I'm not at Hogwarts. This is an illusion, of sorts."

"Miss, whatever would make you think that?"

"If I was at Hogwarts, I wouldn't be able to hear the sound of people Apparating outside the window."

Tipsy slapped himself on his forehead. "Stupid, stupid Tipsy!" He mumbled. "You're stranger than Ms. Granger, Miss Longbottom," he added more clearly, though Ezzy preferred his muttering, "Stranger than Ms. Granger indeed. Clever, clever…"

Tipsy snapped his fingers and was gone.


	3. Chapter 3: The Message in the Locket

Chapter Three: The Message in the Locket

Staring at the ceiling with her blue eyes narrowing mischievously, Esmeralda worked out all she could about her situation. She had been hit with some sort of spell up there on her broom. The red ball—whatever it was called—had been in Gryffindor's possession, and no one else had been near her. She must have been the target.

She had no idea where she was, exactly. She only knew that she wasn't at Hogwarts. She could still hear people Apparating and Disapparating outside, and _Hogwarts, a History_, had clearly stated that no one could Apparate inside Hogwarts grounds…

Tipsy, however, intrigued her. Her thoughts were wrapping around all she knew about him with a frightening pace. She had committed every word he'd said to memory… all she had to do was break it down.

"Well, well, Miss Longbottom," a voice suddenly said, breaking her thoughts with more force than a fastball through a single pan of class.

Ezzy jerked her head painfully upward. The man who now sat at the foot of her bed was even more peculiar than Tipsy. He had flaming red hair and wore a hideous green robe in the same puke-green color. The robes themselves were adorned with a dozen and a half flashing buttons and pins.

"And who might you be?" Ezzy asked, more bitterly than she intended.

"George Weasley, at your service: Proud co-owner of Weasley Wizard Wheezes Incorporated, bringing constipation and puking boxes to over one hundred countries worldwide—"

"Why are you here?"

George put an index finger thoughtfully on his chin. "Give me a moment…" He searched the inside of his robes, as if looking for something. He took off a boot and shook it out, causing its various contents of candies to fall helplessly to the floor. He took off his other boot and a rubber chicken slid out, but nothing seemed to satisfy his search. Finally, he reached behind his ear and took the quill that had somehow nestled itself there.

"Ah ha, here it is!" He exclaimed triumphantly as he pulled out a sheet of parchment. He scribbled something down on it, rolled it up, and lit it on fire with a touch of his wand. He suspended the ashes in midair and then collected them with a swoop of his hand. He pulled a silver necklace out of his pocket, and opening the locket, put the ashes in.

"What?" Ezzy asked as he handed the locket to her. "What do I need with a locket full of ashes?"

George winked at her and put his boots back on. "If you're as smart as Tipsy says you are—and mind you, he has an excellent eye for intelligence—you'll figure out something to do with it. We're sending you back to Hogwarts, now…"

"Who's 'we'?"

"Can't say. But if you're smart and clever enough to figure out that you weren't at Hogwarts after falling off a broom stick after a Parazneiflix spell hit you in the back, you can figure out what to do with a locket full of ashes…"

Esmeralda took the locket tentatively, unable to resist a challenge. Not long after she had hung it around her neck, however, George suddenly blinked out of existence, and she was wrenched off the bed by an unseen, giant hand.

The feeling subsided a moment later, and she was on the ground, tangled in white bed sheets. The stone floor was cool against her cheek—and the hands that were picking her up were so very warm.

"Madame Pomfrey!" Someone yelled. "She's awake!"

The hurried clatter of heels jarred her eyes open. She was back at Hogwarts, being hauled back onto the bed by Pam Davidson and two others she did not know. In old woman was at her side in less than a second, bearing a tray full of medicines.

"Ezzy!" Pam whispered urgently. "Can you hear us?"

"Of course I can…" Ezzy said, though as she spoke the woman poured something rancid down her throat.

Pam and the two others were apparently relieved. "We thought you were going to die!"

"I assure you that I have no such intention…" She spluttered as something slimy slid down her throat.

Ezzy stared out the window. Madame Pomfrey, Pam, and the others had left mercifully an hour ago, leaving her to recollect her thoughts. She was convinced that both George and Tipsy had been some vicious dream.

The moon, after all, was still a week or so away from being full, and there was no possible way for her to be in two places at once. According to Pam, she'd been asleep since she had fallen off her broom two days prior. She couldn't have been in some not-Hogwarts and Hogwarts at the same moment…

She scratched her neck in thought, and her breath caught in her throat when her fingers snagged on a silver chain. She drew the locket out from beneath her shirt, extremely surprised. Magic still had things in store for her, apparently. Her Hogwarts letter had been shock enough. This might have been worse.

Esmeralda groped for her wand. She pressed it to the locket and muttered a spell. She opened it, but was less surprised when a roll of parchment fell out. She unrolled it with a soft smirk to herself, vowing to find out how she had been in two places at once later, and read the few words it held to herself.

"Look for Neville Longbottom."

Ezzy's smirk turned into a frown. She was sure her last name wasn't too popular in the wizardry world—or even that popular in the muggle world, for that matter and never, not her entire extensive family line, had she heard the name "Neville."

She pushed her other vows aside. Who Neville Longbottom was, and why his name was in a locket, she was determined to find out.


End file.
